


To the Manor Born

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-22 17:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Castiel has been the personal manservant to Dean Winchester for a number of years.He is aloof, distant, circumspect.He is also in love.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 99
Kudos: 57





	1. Kensington House

**Author's Note:**

> Caveat: I am not British and I have never written this type of story before. What time period is this? Who knows? For the usual drifter lifestyle stories complete with Doritos & Twizzlers there are many others I have written, but I ask for your indulgence with this one. Apologies in advance to any Brits out there if I get things completely wrong. I read something online recently and couldn't get this story idea out of my head.

The sun marked the distant mountain of grey clouds in a pale-blue sky.

They loomed, a passing rainshower past, across the rolling green downs that surrounded Kensington House.

Castiel was fond of the bright green.

It put him in mind of Ireland.

His charge would wake soon, as he often did when the square of sunlight from the balcony windows finally reached his bed.

Here, in the silent morning, in the cool fresh air graced with mist, Castiel could drink his fill.

Dean Winchester was asleep, swaddled in his white sheets. Freckles stood out from pale skin, one leg hooked around the rumpled bedclothes. His muscular arm bent at the elbow, beneath his pillow, supporting his head. The pout of pink lips and the brush of goldenrod eyelashes. Studies and figures, a painting, a work of art.

Castiel snipped the stems of the roses, just so. He placed them in the vase on the table in the centre of the room. He examined the blooms, plump and red, fresh and sensuous, their weight heavy, the scent heady in the bright crispness of the morning.

He folded the kerchief in perfect symmetry, laying it on the table, his nimble fingers whispering _I love you_ in every fold.

The sunlight crept across the bed, and illuminated Dean in gold.

Shining, bathed in light.

This was Castiel's sunrise.

Dean opened green eyes that seemed to glow, ethereal and strange, in the early morning sun.

"Good morning, sir," said Castiel, to the secret love of his life.


	2. The Downs

Castiel laid out the breakfast as Dean sat down at table.

"Where's Sam?" he asked, tucking his napkin into his collar.

"Samuel is walking the estate with Miss Kensington," said Castiel crisply. 

Dean rolled his eyes. Castiel flattered himself that he did this fondly.

"You are such a stuffed shirt," said Dean. 

"One must be proper," Castiel advised him. "You are beginning to sound dangerously American."

"Yeah, well, _one_ prefers the company of the working class to these highfalutin' types."

"You have spent far too long in the colonies, sir."

Dean grinned at him.

"Maybe," he said. "Can't say I didn't miss you a little, though. There's not much in the way of creature comforts like we have here in merry old England."

Castiel's heart soared, although he merely inclined his head.

Dean turned his attention to his breakfast then, and looked up beaming.

"Egg and soldiers. Thanks, Cas."

Castiel allowed himself a smile.

***

The Winchesters were an old hunting family.

They were given special dispensation by Their Majesties and a family crest with hereditary titles to boot.

Despite their success hunting the supernatural, they had decided to range out further, into the American Wild West, where speculation ran rampant.

Dean had recently returned after his father's passing. His mother had gone many years ago, and as the eldest son he was now the inheritor of the Winchester line.

His younger brother, Samuel, wished to court young Miss Kensington, and so they had arranged a visit.

Castiel was so privately thrilled that Dean had returned, he didn't mind accompanying him on the trip.

It had been his private delight to find that Dean had missed him, too.

Dean had expressed surprise to find Castiel still waiting for him after he'd been gone a full two years.

Truth be told, Castiel would have waited forever.

***

Kensington House was a beautiful old stately home set in the rolling green downs of the English countryside.

Miss Kensington was every inch the proper English heiress, dainty and birdlike.

"Do you disapprove of this match for your brother?" Castiel had enquired, before they went to meet the pair of them.

"She's nice enough," said Dean. "Pretty. _Rather pleasantly dull,_ you might say."

The corners of Castiel's lips quirked at that.

"Believe me, you won't find me marryin' off to a girl like that, Cas," said Dean, as Castiel patiently followed him down the sweeping, grand staircase.

"I certainly hope not, sir," said Castiel.

The very thought sent him into a murderous rage.

He expressed this by drawing his brows together, but as Dean wasn't facing him, he didn't see it.

***

"I see you've made it out of bed this morning," said Samuel primly, as Dean sat down in the salon.

"I see you've still got a stick up your ass," Dean returned, slinging one leg over the arm of his chair.

Miss Kensington gasped, placing a well-manicured hand over her mouth.

"You must excuse my brother," said Samuel. "He has spent a few years in the colonies, and learned uncouth manners there."

Miss Kensington's look of horror changed a bit into something else.

"Quite rough there, I imagine?" she asked politely, but with a look in her eyes Castiel didn't like.

His hands tightened on the back of Dean's chair where he was standing.

She gave him a salacious grin.

"Why, Miss Kensington," said Dean.

Castiel knew that rakish grin.

He'd had many ideas about exactly how he would go about wiping it off his face, generally involving pleading, needy moans pouring out from between those sinful lips.

"Dean!" Samuel said warningly, and propriety dictated it was Castiel's place to intervene.

"Perhaps a stroll around the garden, sir?" Castiel suggested.

Dean didn't respond for a moment, enjoying how uncomfortable he was making everyone, his easy confidence a draw for the woman in the room.

"Sure," he drawled, and let Castiel escort him into the sunlight.

***

"England has better weather than the English think it does," Dean commented, as they walked together.

"Indeed, sir," said Castiel. "If I may speak out of turn?"

"C'mon, Cas, no need to stand on ceremony," said Dean. "You've seen me naked plenty of times."

The mere suggestion of this was enough for Castiel to close his eyes briefly, at war with his better angels.

Once he felt composed again, he spoke.

"You seem to have upset your brother," he said.

"Ah, you know how it is," said Dean, kicking at the gravel on the path. "Brothers. Sibling rivalry."

"Yes," agreed Castiel. "But Miss Kensington is important to Samuel. Perhaps it would be best -"

"Not to?" Dean finished. "Hell no, Cas. Any girl good enough for my brother's a girl whose head ain't gonna be turned by me or any other cad who walks in the damned doorway. Already thought she was made of cheap card, now I know she ain't the one for him."

"I don't think Samuel appreciates your method," Castiel said.

_Nor do I,_ he did not say.

"He's my little brother," said Dean. "Gotta look out for him somehow. I've been gone two years, Cas. I won't watch him marry some drip."

"Just as you say."

"And Cas?"

"Yes?"

"If you wanna talk, just talk, man. We're close enough for that, at least I hope."

"I shall endeavour to do so in future, sir."

"Dean. Please."

"Dean."

***

Later, in the servant's quarters, Castiel thought of Dean's eyes, of his figure silhouetted by the English countryside behind him, and he ached.

***

The brothers and Castiel left Kensington House the following morning.


	3. Rescue

The Winchester Estate was, in a word, expansive.

The house itself was grand, but somehow cosy at the same time, with exposed wood beams and a warm English countryside feel. More rambling than starched and stately, room after room included a fireplace and the warmth of home. Still, it held a kind of prim elegance that spoke of wealth and position.

The grounds were the real attraction, including several forests and fields along with barley plantations, vegetable gardens, and other valuable attractions. The Estate itself employed several people, and was bustling in every area, whether it was the kitchens or the gardens.

Castiel kept well to himself. He didn't mix with the rest of the help, and he knew the others thought him snobbish because he was the personal manservant to one of the heirs of the Estate. 

However, in reality, it was because he was painfully shy - and because he feared that anyone would read his secret in the cast of his eyes, or as if it had been written across his skin.

This was not the only secret Castiel held close to his own heart. He had others even more spectacular.

But to him, it was his undying devotion to Dean that he most feared having exposed.

So he kept himself apart, separate, where he could gaze upon the object of his affection undaunted, Dean the star around which he was grateful to orbit.

Within Castiel's own mind, of course, these affections were expressed in a somewhat less chaste fashion.

He dreamed of Dean falling apart beneath his clever hands, of Dean surrendering to him, offering up his body like a sacrifice. 

Dean, malleable and soft, easy, pliable; allowing Castiel to move him where he will.

He dreamed of the great blasphemy of Dean calling _him_ sir, of Dean obeying his every order.

Castiel had long worked in his profession, and obedience was paramount to him. 

Perfect obedience and submission.

But he knew that his feelings for Dean, in and of themselves, were scandalous, let alone the things he wished to do, or the things he wished Dean to do for him - saying nothing of the fact they were both men.

More to the point, they were of two different classes entirely, and such things were not done. Or if they were, they were politely swept under the rug and the young squire married off to someone more of his or her station, leaving the lover in the servants' quarters having to watch the love of their life with someone else if they were lucky, or sent away, banished, with no references or poor ones if they were not.

So Castiel watched over Dean, and Castiel yearned, expressing his love via the turndown of the bed, a warm bath drawn before Dean even knew he wanted one, an expertly-folded napkin.

He suffered, and delighted in it, just to be allowed close proximity to the object of his affections. 

Castiel didn't need Dean to reciprocate. 

He was happy enough, in his sweet torture, to be the heavenly body bathed in the reflection of Dean's sunlight.

***

"Castiel. A word, if I may."

"Indeed, Samuel. What is it?"

Samuel had drawn Castiel aside, away from prying eyes and ears, into the drawing room.

"I'm afraid Dean has found himself in some trouble," he said, clearly unsure how to approach a delicate matter.

Castiel's focus narrowed down to just that room.

"What's happened?" he enquired.

Samuel sighed.

"He's at one of the low taverns again," he sighed. "I would that he might extricate himself, but when I attempted to collect him, a harlot spat at me and Dean refused to leave. I fear, if the news gets out, there will be a terrible scandal."

"And I gather that you would like me to collect him."

"If you would."

"Of course, sir."

Samuel smiled, discomfort leaving his expression with a smile. He patted Castiel on the shoulder.

"You are a boon to our family, Castiel," he said. "Thank you."

***

The tavern, such as it was, served the people of the nearby town. It was a low place, almost a hovel, and was located partially underground.

Castiel knew it by reputation, if not by experience.

He presented himself at the door.

"I am here to collect Mr. Winchester," said Castiel.

"Bugger off," said one of the men lolling near the door. 

"Will ye look at this git?" another said, hiding a guffaw in his mug of beer.

"If you gentlemen would be so kind as to let me pass," said Castiel.

"Piss off, ye daft cunt," said another man.

"I have my orders from the other Mr. Winchester to collect his brother," said Castiel politely.

"I don't care, you ain't comin' in," said the first man.

Castiel sighed deeply.

He then grabbed the man with the beer by the throat, lifting him bodily up against the wall.

The other men shouted in terror as the man's beer spilled and the mug dropped from his hand.

"As I said," Castiel informed him calmly, "I have come to collect my charge."

He dropped the man unceremoniously onto the ground, arranged his shirt cuffs, and went into the tavern, as the people behind him descended upon the man he had left outside.

***

Castiel found Dean easily. He was at the back of the tavern, seated at a candlelit table. There was a woman sitting in his lap. She was wearing a dirty dress with her breasts pushed up and nearly falling out of it. Dean had one arm around her waist and was clutching a mug of ale in his other hand as he leaned listlessly against the wall.

Castiel's eyes darkened.

Dean looked up when Castiel's shadow fell across the table.

Something in his addled brain put two and two together and he smiled.

Castiel wished dearly that Dean's smile did not affect him in the way it did, but it could not be helped.

"Cas," said Dean warmly.

"Dean," Castiel replied. "You are coming with me. Samuel is worried."

"Sam's always worried," Dean said, taking a drink of ale around the girl in his lap.

Castiel's jealousy raged in his heart, stoking a high fire.

Outwardly, he remained stoic.

"Nevertheless," said Castiel. "Please come with me, sir."

"Nah," said Dean, "Happy here."

"Dean - "

The woman on his lap turned to glare at Cas and say:

"You deaf or somethin'? He don't wanna go with you."

She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Dean smiled at her.

Castiel had seen quite enough.

"Hey!" shouted Dean, as Castiel got his arms underneath both Dean and the girl, effortlessly toppling her off his lap and, he was quite pleased to see, onto her arse on the floor.

Castiel hoisted Dean over his shoulder.

"As I said," he informed the girl. "I had my orders."

He turned to the stunned crowd in the tavern and said:

"I thank you for a pleasant time, on behalf of Messrs. Winchester. Good evening."

Then Castiel walked out the door with his prize, and no one dared to intercept him.


	4. Bath

"Stop _wriggling,_ sir."

"Well you threw me over your shoulder, you heathen!"

"You were being insufferable."

"I will bite you on the ass."

" _Arse,_ sir."

There was silence.

Then Dean began to giggle, a joyous sound he would absolutely deny later, Castiel knew.

They were on the tree-lined pathway to Winchester Estate, the road illuminated by the distant glow of the house's windows.

"I am setting you down, now, sir."

"You sure about that?" Dean asked, as Castiel set him carefully on his feet. "Don't you wanna - _whoa -_ "

A slight fit of dizziness brought on by drink, or the manner of his transportation, made Dean heave right a bit.

Castiel caught him in his arms.

"Cas," said Dean, looking down at Castiel's hands.

His eyes, still so green even in the low light, swam up towards Castiel's face.

"Like you, Cas," he slurred. "Always have - you'll always catch me when I fall. Won't you, Cas?"

Castiel's awareness of every place they were in contact almost overwhelmed his senses. He closed his eyes slowly, and opened them again, only to see Dean sway into his space and kiss him, lips clinging briefly to Castiel's.

Alarm bells, a 21-gun salute, and a band of mad Morris dancers erupted in Castiel's chest.

Outwardly, he gently steadied Dean on his feet, and separated himself, standing back while every part of him urged closer, screaming for contact, to ravish the young man in the dim distant light from the windows where his need to possess the man for himself was too strong, to dominate him here on his own lands, begging beneath the hands of his servant, to make Dean his own so he would never look at anyone else ever again with those adoring eyes.

"Are you ready to proceed, sir?" asked Castiel aloud. "It would be for the best if you were to return with your head held high instead of supported on the arm of your manservant."

Dean gave him an odd look, a strange mix of disappointment and something else, but Castiel chalked it up to the drink.

"I gotta hand it to you, Cas," said Dean, setting off toward the house. "You think of everything."

Castiel noted something like sarcasm in Dean's tone, but Dean had never been the most circumspect when he had been drinking.

He followed his charge up the drive, the ghost of that phantom kiss burning on his lips, thinking he would have plenty with which to distract himself when he found himself alone of an evening.

***

Castiel finished drawing the bath just as Dean walked into the room, muttering to himself as he shucked off his boots.

"Sam is never gonna understand," he said fiercely under his breath. "All he thinks about is legacy, and money!"

Dean looked up to see Castiel standing behind a steaming hot bath, holding a towel and soaps.

He broke into a relieved grin.

"Cas, how do you always know exactly what I need?" he asked. "You take such good care of me."

Castiel privately thrilled over this, but merely nodded his acknowledgement.

"Got in a - a fight with Sam," he informed Castiel, who turned away as Dean began to remove his clothing. "Kid doesn't understand anything. Sheltered, thinking about gettin' married, about education. Guess I only got myself to blame. An' he hasn't taken _any_ calls from His Majesty, Lord knows what we're going to do if the hunts have backed up."

Castiel heard the sound of Dean stepping into the warm water, and it sloshing over the side of the tub.

"Shit, sorry, Cas," said Dean, his voice warm and lovely as he sank into the water and let out a sigh of relief. "Guess I'm still a little drunk. Thanks for the rescue, by the way."

"It is my duty as your valet," said Castiel.

"Bull. It's above and beyond," said Dean. "You are, Cas. Never let anybody tell you otherwise."

There was silence between them as Dean washed himself.

Castiel longed to be the one to -

but no, it was unwise to entertain such thoughts here.

"Did you have fun while I was gone?" asked Dean.

"Tolerably," said Castiel.

"Didja miss me?"

This silence was similar to the other, but strange. Dean had paused in washing, awaiting a response.

"Terribly, sir."

"Good," said Dean, resuming his ablutions. "Me too."

"Your brother is a fine employer," said Castiel. "Perhaps he should have a valet of his own."

"He'll marry off sooner or later," said Dean. "And once married, I hear the valet disappears into the ether."

"Not of his own volition, sir," said Castiel. "I take it you found the colonies less than enjoyable?"

"On the contrary," said Dean. "I prefer them. Hell, I seek out these taverns because they put me in mind of the place. I've adopted their speech. Here, everything is so - "

He sighed.

"Divided by class," he finally decided. "Every word you say is evaluated by everyone. Despite the fact that we've kept the place safe from supernatural horror, we're still expected to modulate our tone when we sup at these fine country houses."

" _This_ is a fine country house," Castiel remarked. Dean laughed.

"Yes, but - I don't know, Cas," said Dean, somewhat dreamy. "Over there the land's wide as the eye can see, you know? Great forests that put those here at Winchester to shame. And - and the people can mix there."

Now Dean was mumbling.

"And they don't have to worry - they don't have to worry about who they love, and - and their station."

"I've heard it is a very adventurous place, sir," said Castiel.

"Cas," said Dean. "Call me Dean."

"Just as you say, sir," said Castiel.

"Look at me, Cas," said Dean.

"I don't think - "

" _Please._ "

Against all propriety, because Castiel was drawn to this man like a magnet, because he couldn't say no, he turned, even though he knew such an act would damn him whether or not his drunken employer would, upon recalling it in the light of day.

And then the unthinkable happened.

Dean stood from the bath, Castiel caught standing there, as the water sluiced from him, made rivulets down his body and cascaded into the tub. 

Defiant, he stood there, arms crossed, entirely naked, his eyes blazing bright green. He was all pale skin and freckles, muscles and lines and curves. 

Castiel's grip on the white towel in his hands nearly tore it to shreds. 

Dean stared at him, and seemed as if he were looking for something.

After a moment of no response whatsoever from Castiel, he seemed disappointed in not finding whatever it was he was looking for.

"Towel, please," said Dean, voice tinged with some kind of sorrow.

Castiel handed him the towel, which he wrapped around himself as he stepped out of the tub, leaving Castiel there to clean up after him.

As he cleaned, he wondered what had happened to Dean while he had been in the colonies, and what Castiel could do to soothe the sorrow that seemed to have haunted Dean since his return.


	5. Know Your Place

The following day was unusually sunny, only a few clouds in a dark-blue sky.

Dean had wanted to take a stroll around the forests of the estate, and asked Castiel to accompany him.

Castiel was certain that Dean's dissatisfaction and boredom were driving this particular desire, as the woodlands were beautiful and rich with a good yearly yield, and it was merely a pretence to avoid what Dean considered the drudgery of society now that he'd returned to one with rules and regulations.

Still, Castiel did not mind the distraction from his own more mundane duties, brushing his charge's clothing or discussing meals with the chef. He much preferred taking in the sights of the wildlife, he thought, as he mutely watched Dean wandering through the shadows of the silver birch forest.

"You know," Dean said, "you think we speak the same language, over there and over here, but we don't."

"Indeed, sir?" asked Castiel politely.

"Yeah," said Dean, picking up a stick and using it as a staff, walking along slowly and poking it into the ground from time to time as he went. "Like here, _quite_ means kind-of, but over there _quite_ means _very._ You wouldn't _believe_ the number of misunderstandings between American men and newly-arrived Englishwomen when their would-be suitors complimented them by calling them _quite pretty._ "

Dean laughed fondly, mind far away.

"If I may be so bold, sir," said Castiel.

"C'mon, Cas, I already told you to knock it off, standin' on ceremony with me," said Dean.

"If you loved the colonies so much, why didn't you stay there? Why did you return to England if it vexes you so?"

Dean paused, and straightened up from where he had been turning rocks over with the stick. 

He turned to look Castiel in the eye.

"Because I had someone waiting for me back home," he said, in a clear voice that rang out among the trees.

Castiel's heart fell. This was the worst news he could have been delivered, and he cursed himself for asking questions he did not want the answer to.

"I see, sir," said Castiel, in a voice somewhat subdued.

And there Dean was again, _watching_ him.

Waiting for something.

But what, Castiel did not know.

"Anyway," Dean said with a sigh, resuming his walk through the forest as Castiel followed, trying to keep his broken heart somewhat intact. "There's Winchester lands there now, Cas, but I don't know how I feel about the fact they were taken from the native people. Not much I can do about it now since the town's been built all around it and we've got what we've got. But it makes me uneasy all the same."

"I was given to understand that the American West is a lawless and dangerous environment," said Castiel, earnestly covering his own emotion, reminding himself that he had always been happy enough to serve and this new development should make little difference.

But the thought of losing Dean, of losing his position near him, made his heart clench with terror. Should Dean marry, this meant Castiel was likely to lose him forever. 

As he had mentioned previously, the appearance of a wife often indicates the disappearance of a valet.

But Dean was talking now, and Castiel had missed part of it, so distracted was he by the idea of saying goodbye to the one man in whom he had invested all his devotion.

"...obeying the law," Dean was saying. "But it's not even about _law_ here, see? It's about these...stupid social rules we've all placed on ourselves. Take Sam, for instance. He doesn't _need_ to marry into wealth, he's already wealthy. If he wanted - he could, er - there are plenty of nice young women who are, maybe, not of his station, exactly."

"Winchester Estate would be in danger of liquidation without a dowry," said Castiel. "One reason your father had asked you go to to America."

Dean waved his hand.

"What is it with you, Cas?" he asked. "Of all people, you're gettin' the short end of the stick here. Why you gotta follow the rules all the time?"

Castiel swallowed.

"It is all that I know," he admitted. "Obedience to the law, the _social mores,_ as you call them, has brought me great fortune."

Dean snorted.

"Know your place, right?" he said. "And what great fortune? You get to be the servant to some guy whose wealth was not so much earned as inherited."

"Believe me, sir," said Castiel. "It is more than worth it."

"And what's that about?" asked Dean.

He approached Castiel, now dangerously close -

close enough for Castiel to recognise, and not for the first time, that Dean's eyes were the colour of the leaves surrounding them.

"What's - _ahem_ \- what's what about?" asked Castiel, taking a step back.

Dean stepped forward.

"Don't you ever wanna break the rules, Cas?" Dean murmured.

Castiel watched him blink, slowly, hypnotised, the fan of ginger-blond lashes hiding and then revealing eyes that looked a brighter green than he'd ever seen them.

Castiel's gaze dropped to Dean's lips; plump, inviting.

Then Dean's tongue came out to wet them.

Castiel breathed out.

"Dean?" 

And just like that, the spell was broken. All the sounds of the forest around them, the birds in the trees and the wind in the leaves, filled the empty spaces where Castiel hadn't realised the whole world had gone silent just beforehand, as his universe narrowed to the scant space between them.

"Here, Sam," Dean called back, finally breaking his stare, as Samuel emerged around a corner of the wood, smiling. 

They fell into talking together, then, and Castiel fell back, following the brothers as they continued their walk.

In his place, where he was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word 'homely' in UK English means 'home-like' while in US English it means 'ugly' xD There are plenty of examples like this and the 'quite' example here is one I ran into frequently. I am doing my best to write this story using UK English spelling.
> 
> The US and the UK are truly separated by a common language, and also a hierarchical speech structure that I was never really able to understand despite all my attempts to do so. Americans who believe they 'get' UK English are, for the most part, wrong. It has nuances and levels (not to mention regional variations) that are only matched by the kind of formal-informal tonal speech patterns of Chinese. Interestingly, British people seem completely unaware of this fact, and assume that Americans are just being 'rude' when in fact they have no idea what they're doing.
> 
> Case in point: the British phrase 'who's she, the cat's mother' is extraordinarily bizarre to Americans, as they would not understand why you would not refer to someone as 'she'. It is one example out of many in which our cultures are extremely different from each other, although they do seem similar at surface level due to a shared language. I personally think that the shared language masks the fact that these are two wildly different cultures and is a little detrimental because it means that those from the UK and the US are expecting something familiar if they move to the other nation and then find themselves at a disadvantage because it turns out that the place is, in fact, a foreign country, with all the things that entails.


	6. Ideas Above His Station

"Do I really have to, Cas?"

"Your brother has invited a young lady to dinner. It would behoove you to put in an appearance."

"Yeah, but dressed like this?"

"You used to dress like this every day."

"That was before."

"Sir, I believe Samuel would very much like you to be there," said Castiel, as he helped Dean into his jacket. "He values your opinion."

Dean sighed, looking at himself in the mirror.

"I guess there's nothin' for it, then," he said. "Can't ever say no to that kid, Cas, you noticed?"

"I have, sir."

"Who's the girl, anyway?"

"The _woman_ is Eileen Leahy," said Castiel.

"She's Irish?" Dean said, perking up a bit. "Damn, Sammy. I didn't know you had it in you. That'll be nice for you, won't it?"

"Sir?"

"You're from Ireland, right?"

Castiel did not respond. Dean rapidly found himself wrong-footed.

"I, I just always assumed," Dean said. "You know. Named after an angel, an' you're pretty religious, from, er. What I remember."

"Quite all right, sir," said Castiel. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," said Dean. "But we're going to have a talk someday, if I don't know this stuff after all these years."

"As you wish, sir."

***

Eileen was a slender woman with a wicked grin.

She was also deaf.

Dean was at a loss because he didn't know how to communicate with her.

"I don't want to be rude, Cas," said Dean tightly, showing that despite his time in America, he still had the very British fear of impoliteness where it counted.

"Worry not, sir," said Castiel. "She communicates by means of signs, which I know. I can translate."

"You're a lifesaver, Cas," said Dean, and he greeted Eileen as they sat at table.

***

Eileen was tough and funny, her Irish background making her a little daring as a choice for Sam.

Dean absolutely _loved_ her.

"Pay no attention to my brother," Sam signed to Eileen. "He imagines himself a gunslinger. He spent a few years in the colonies and now thinks he's American."

Eileen signed,

"America?" as Castiel translated. "I have family there."

"It's truly a magnificent place," said Dean.

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"Everyone says that," said Dean. "But I fear no evil, because I am the meanest son of a bitch in the valley."

Samuel, and a few of the servants in attendance, gasped.

"Dean!" Samuel admonished his brother.

Eileen saw Castiel's translation and froze for a moment.

Then she smiled wide and laughed.

"This one," said Dean, as Castiel signed. "I like this one."

***

Castiel accompanied Dean on his now-daily constitutional in the silver birch forest. Despite Samuel's finding them there, he seemed to find it secluded and peaceful enough to share his thoughts with his valet, which many people said was the same as keeping a secret to yourself.

This was true in Castiel's case. He was a locked box.

Unfortunately, he was close to overflowing, and that just would not do.

"I could go back to America," said Dean. "Sam marries Eileen, they can look after the place."

"Sir?"

"I'd like you to join me, if I went. If you would."

"That is a very generous offer, sir."

"Cas, can you - can you level with me?"

Dean stopped in the path and looked at him. The day was grey and cool, although it hadn't rained, there was always the potential for it in the air.

"Sir?"

"Not _sir,_ Castiel," said Dean, and the use of his full name startled Castiel enough to really _look_ at him. 

His eyes were _so_ green, even in the dim light.

"Have you ever - thought about it?" he said, so soft it was like a murmur, Castiel wouldn't have heard him if he hadn't been watching Dean's mouth move.

"Sir?"

Dean sighed in frustration.

"I have," he informed Castiel. "I think about your touch, Cas. I dream of it."

Castiel turned away from him then, because he couldn't keep looking at Dean without knowing his own iron resolve was crumbling faster than he'd ever expected.

"I think of kissing you," said Dean, relentless, although he hadn't moved from his spot. "I _know_ you think of it too, Cas. Don't you? Tell me."

There was a pregnant pause.

" _Tell me,_ Castiel."

Castiel was helpless now, caught in the net of his own desires, and never one to disobey a direct order.

"Yes," said Castiel, his eyes fixed on the trees. Dean made a strange sound of relief and desperate need.

"I wanna touch you," said Dean, from behind him, but did not, as though the mere fact of this conversation was enough of a transgression.

For Castiel, even more so, but a conversation could be denied, excused, hidden. 

It was not touch. It was nothing.

But it would be something, to him - something to remember Dean by, when he ultimately left.

And he had waited so long - he knew Dean had someone else waiting for him, he knew it was selfish, and he knew it couldn't last, but Castiel was greedy to indulge himself, if only with his voice, if this was what Dean could offer him.

Castiel had ideas above his station, this he knew. But this little indulgence couldn't hurt.

He could be satisfied with this.

It would have to be enough.

"I have thought of kissing you," said Castiel.

Dean breathed out in something like relief.

It began to rain, then, and Castiel got bolder. 

Nobody would interrupt them now.

"I've wanted you on your knees for me for some time, Dean Winchester," Castiel admitted.

Dean made a sound behind him, something deep, close to a moan.

"Obedient. Begging."

There was a harsh gasp.

" _Cas,_ " sighed Dean.

And it was in that moment, Castiel knew, if he turned around, he would be damned by that beauty, flushed in arousal; those lips and green eyes that had led him far enough into temptation.

"Shall we go inside, sir? It's raining."

And he strode forward, without looking to see if Dean followed him, which was, perhaps, his greatest transgression of all.


	7. The Library

_Snip. Snip._

Castiel's hands were shaking.

This was an unfortunate turn of events.

These roses were expressions of love, and the stems were cut jagged.

Castiel couldn't help it - ever since their conversation in the birch wood, things had changed.

Furious with himself, he set down the shears and buried his face in his hands.

He did not wait to see Dean's wakening, and made himself scarce before the light of day had touched his charge's rumpled bedspread.

***

"Cas," that beloved voice spoke behind him as he stood in the conservatory, watering the plants.

Castiel turned smartly to look at Dean.

He looked no different; just as beautiful, with that roguish quality beneath his skin.

"Yes, sir?"

"Sam wants to take Eileen to the City," said Dean. "He has asked me to go with him."

"Very good, sir."

Castiel usually watched over the estate while the brothers were gone. Much like when Dean had been in America, the supervision of the household had been left to Castiel. When they visited the City, they often took half their retinue along with them.

"You weren't there when I woke up this morning," said Dean, a mournful note in his voice.

"It is time you become accustomed to life without me," Castiel informed him. "When you marry, I will not be there."

Dean's expression travelled from shocked, to deeply hurt, to angry.

"I see," he said. "Well then. Enjoy your time while I'm out of your hair, _Castiel._ "

Castiel gave him a puzzled look.

"I'm sorry, sir, have I upset you?" he asked.

Dean's jaw worked.

"Not at all," he replied.

"Will you be gone a long time?"

"A week or so at the most."

Dean laughed without humour.

"Hoping for longer?"

"No, indeed, sir."

Then, because he couldn't help himself, his mouth, after the incident in the forest:

"I always miss you when you are away."

Whatever Dean was angry about seemed to ameliorate at Castiel's words, because his expression softened from the storm.

"Yeah, Cas," he said quietly. "Me too."

"Enjoy your time in London, sir."

"Thank you."

***

Winchester Estate was quiet when the brothers were gone.

Although there were still people working, the estate was large enough that for Castiel, it was like being alone. 

After he had given the morning's instructions to the various workers, he was left quite to his own devices. For Castiel, this was the closest experience to a holiday he would ever have, and therefore he took advantage of it.

In the grand library of the estate, there were enormous arched windows that reached over a story high, throwing light across the cavernous space.

There was a storm coming, Castiel could see it as the sky was divided between the dark distant clouds and the brightness of the sun.

In the library, Castiel found a book. Then his favourite chair.

He removed his jacket, and his shirt, so he was bare-chested in the sunlight.

Then he perched on the back of the chair, book in hand.

Two great, white wings spread up and out from behind his back, as he stretched them with a sigh of relief, the feathers settling in the sunlight.

Then, he folded them neatly against his back, as he began to read, and the rain started pattering against the windows.


	8. Return

Castiel found himself more than pleased with Dean's absence.

While he was gone, he found the intensity of his desire faded, and he was able to complete his work. As time wound on, he felt assured that he had regained his confidence and his demeanour in order to serve his charge properly just as he had always done in the past.

Dean's return, as always, was earth-shattering.

"That's _twenty_ monsters, and hauntings, you missed while I was away!" Dean reprimanded his brother, as he walked into the study with his boots on, tracking mud onto the red carpet. "The Queen is _livid,_ and I don't blame her!"

He stood framed in the doorway, the mahogany and gentle, dark reds of the study setting off the broad slope of his shoulders as his green eyes shone in anger, freckles against fair skin in the grey afternoon light.

Castiel realised that his intention of ignoring his feelings with a stiff upper lip might be more difficult than he had previously imagined.

Outwardly, he paused in his dusting of the cabinets to mildly admonish him:

"Sir. Boots. Outside."

Dean looked down and swore.

"Sorry, Cas," he said, and went out grumbling.

Samuel entered the study then, also to apologise.

"Thank you for taking care of the estate while we were in London."

"You are very welcome, sir."

"I'm sorry for Dean's behaviour. Ever since his return, he's been," Samuel searched for a word. "Agitated."

"That's quite all right, sir."

Samuel sighed.

"He is cross with me because I've neglected _the familial duty,_ " said Samuel. "He acts as if we have no choice, because we were born into it, like the divine right of kings! What do I care for chasing spirits in the middle of the night? It's cold, it's wet, I'm likely to get thrown against a wall for my troubles."

"And we have one of the greatest libraries of British lore here at the estate, going to rack and ruin," said Dean, returning to the study.

"Now that's not true. I've read most of the books in the library. You are the man of action."

"And you can be the scholar, as long as the man of action _is here to do it,_ " said Dean. "I study your books when you're gone, or I wouldn't know what I was up against."

"I haven't noticed you going on any hunts since your return," said Samuel triumphantly.

Dean glanced at Castiel, a mute observer to these proceedings.

"Yeah, well," he said, a little of his fire gone out, "I'm readjusting."

"Dean," said Samuel, and his voice went all soft - something Castiel recognised as his request for his brother to share feelings with him. "We don't _have_ to do it anymore, you know. Our family has earned its place. You could go back to America, if you wanted."

"And you? What would you do?" asked Dean. "Stay here in this house with your wife, attending parties? Joining the House of Lords? This is the _House of Winchester,_ Samuel. We're _hunters._ And you want to live a boring life?"

"I want to live a _normal_ life," said Samuel. "And that is what those of our class do. Many of them have family crests relating to their feats of courage in wartime. None of them are still crawling about the blasted heath looking for monsters!"

Dean shook his head.

"Can you believe this, Cas?"

Castiel looked up, alarmed at being brought into a family discussion this way.

"Garden parties and Westminster," muttered Dean, and swanned out of the room, with Samuel following every step of the way.

Castiel, for his part, had to try and calm his heartbeat.

Once he was assured that it was under control again, he returned to his duties, cleaning the side tables and wondering why Dean had chosen to find the room he had been in for this altercation between himself and Samuel.

He didn't have to wonder very long.

"Cas," Dean said from the doorway, startling Castiel.

He turned to look at his charge.

"Meet me in the silver birch wood in a quarter of an hour," said Dean, and then made himself scarce.

A half hour passed, and then an hour.

Castiel continued to clean the house.

It was the first direct order he had ever disobeyed.

***

Later, Dean cornered him in the kitchen.

"I waited," he breathed softly against Castiel's skin. "Why didn't you come?"

"It was not one of my usual duties, sir," said Castiel.

Dean stepped back, searching his face.

"Are you - " 

He made a sound of disgust, crossing his arms.

Castiel wanted nothing more than to unfold them, to kiss him, to shove him against the heavy wood table behind him and bend him over.

Dean, staring into his eyes, must have seen _something_ there, because a strange predatory smile slowly spread across his face. He licked his lips.

"I would like a bath drawn for myself this evening," he instructed Castiel.

Castiel gave him a sharp look. Dean caught it and his smile widened.

"That's a direct order," said Dean. "And _definitely_ on your list of usual responsibilities, ain't that right, _Cas?_ "

Castiel's jaw tightened as he looked at this infuriating, beautiful man.

"Just as you say, sir," he said tightly.

***

Castiel stood waiting for Dean, the steam rising gently from the bath.

He didn't have to wait long.

Dean entered the chambre and dropped his towel, staring directly at Castiel.

Daring him to do something.

Castiel politely turned his back.

"Please stop trying to get a rise out of me, sir," said Castiel, in a voice close to expressing emotion.

"So it _does_ get a rise out of you," snarked Dean. "Meet me in the birch forest again, Cas. Please."

"I feel it would be...unwise, sir."

" _Please,_ Castiel. Promise me."

"...very well, sir."

When Castiel handed Dean his towel, he didn't know what to think about the triumphant expression on his face.

***

That night, in his own rooms, with a fist in his feathers and the other around his cock, Castiel came on a silent scream.

Breathing hard, as he came down, and hoped it would be enough to keep his desire at bay for the next morning's encounter.

***

As usual, Dean - lovely, defiant, perfect Dean - exceeded Castiel's expectations.

They stood together on the pathway in the silver birch forest, Dean's expression daring Castiel -

_do something, just do something._

Castiel turned his back, but didn't leave, caught on that precipice between his own all-encompassing desire and Dean's relentless words.

"Bet you wanted to teach me a lesson," Dean murmured, soft and sensuous. "Makin' you do that for me."

"Sir, please -"

"Please what?" asked Dean. "Ain't that what you want to hear from me? _Please, Castiel. I can be so good for you._ "

Castiel closed his eyes briefly as want washed over him like a wave.

"Stop talking, sir - "

"Why don't you shut me up?" Dean asked. 

There was silence then, but only for a moment, because Dean said:

"Tell me, Cas. What you'd do to me. If you could do what you so clearly want to do."

"I - "

"That's a _direct order_."

Castiel shuddered, and spoke as if hypnotised.

"I would push you down on this earth," he said quietly. "For your transgressions. Make you - "

Dean moaned then; long and loud.

Castiel was alarmed to hear the soft movement of fabric, to know that Dean had taken himself in hand, out here where anyone might encounter the two of them.

It would be for the best, thought Castiel, to end this here. 

They had never kissed. They had never even touched.

But the desire made his head swim, being so close to something he had wanted for so long, and he was carried away on the madness of that tide.

"Tell me," Dean whispered fiercely. "Tell me, Cas."

"I wish to - "

But he never got the opportunity to finish what he was about to say, because once again, they were being called - Castiel this time, a voice he recognised as one of the chef's assistants shouting for him.

Dean swore and sighed in frustration. By the time Castiel had turned around again, he was perfectly presentable.

They stared at each other. Dean bit down on a soft lower lip and Castiel followed the movement with his gaze.

"Samuel is hosting a garden party and a ball," he said abruptly. "I'd like it if you'd join me there."

Castiel stared at him a while longer.

"I am always wherever you are," he said.

"I mean as my guest, Cas," said Dean. 

"Wouldn't that be - "

"It can be our secret. Like this."

The chef's assistant called again, drawing Castiel away from the forest and the potential he had found there.

"I must go, sir," said Castiel.

"Then promise me something."

"Anything."

Dean quirked a grin.

"You're gonna finish what we started," he said. "Either you tell me - or - or show me."

Castiel's mind filled with the possibilities.

The woman shouted again, sounding irritated this time.

"Promise," Castiel finally said, unwilling to look Dean in the eye, and making polite excuses, then hurried to discover what the chef wanted.

As he walked toward the great house, Castiel shook his head at himself.

He must be going mad.


	9. The Kitchens

Quite out of sorts, Castiel entered the kitchens under a stormcloud.

"What is it, Arachne?" he asked, tetchy.

"Now, now, then, Castiel," said the woman, completely covered in flour. "One mustn't lose one's temper, so I hear."

She was rolling dough for meat pies.

"You know how the young master loves these," she said.

"Did you _want_ something?" Castiel pressed. "I was engaged - "

"Yes, we all know what you were engaged in," said Arachne. 

Upon seeing his startled look, she snorted.

"The help always knows," said Arachne. "The help sees everything. _You_ ought to know that."

"Is it - please don't tell anyone," said Castiel.

Arachne shrugged.

"Don't need to," she said. "But I'm not about to go blabbing to anyone who _matters_ , so to speak. We all have our little secrets."

She gave him an evaluating look.

"Angel."

Now Castiel reared back as if he had been slapped.

"What, er," he said, having lost his composure entirely. "What do you mean?"

Arachne stared at him.

"You think you're the first creature to realise that hiding in plain sight was the best refuge?" she asked. 

It was Castiel's turn to stare at her.

"You mean - ?"

"You think _Arachne_ is a normal British name?" she asked. "You know that the Winchesters let the various heads-of-household do the hiring? We are _all_ supernatural, my love."

Castiel blinked.

"Should you not be in textiles?" he enquired, and she shot him a withering look.

"Should you not be the head falconer?" she returned.

"Message received," he said.

"I wanted to tell you," she said, resuming her work as she poured gravy into the little pie-pots, "for two reasons. One, so that you would know - you're not alone here, Castiel."

Then she leveled her gaze at him.

"The second is that you are treading on dangerous ground," she said. "This - _dalliance,_ shall we say, with the eldest Winchester. You must know this."

"I do," agreed Castiel.

"He is not known for his long-term commitments."

"I know that, too."

"And do you understand that if he discovers who you _really_ are, he would as soon as pin you up with those pretty wings like you were part of a butterfly collection?"

"Dean wouldn't."

"How long have you worked here, love?"

"Seven years, give or take."

"And I've been here since these young men were children. Believe me when I say that there's a reason we were glad the eldest one left us for a while."

"Dean is different with me. It would be different," Castiel insisted, stubborn. "And even if it wasn't..."

He couldn't finish his sentence, but he didn't have to.

Arachne sighed, and gave him a pitying look like a doting grandmother.

"And I take it that the reputation of... _angelic attachment,_ shall we say, is true?"

Castiel nodded his head, miserable.

"Then I don't know what to say, pet, except - we're here. If you should need us."

Castiel smiled. She patted his cheek, a little cloud of flour rising from it.

It was good, he thought, to know he wasn't alone.


	10. The Ball

The day of the garden party and the ball that followed had dawned with Castiel's usual cool demeanour shaken.

He went through his daily duties with the usual aplomb, but his nerves felt like they were skittering beneath his skin.

This was because one of the staff had let slip Samuel's reason for the soiree - he'd intended to entice someone into marrying Dean.

The brothers did everything together. They had been close growing up. Why they should behave differently as grown men - well, Castiel's expectations after Dean's experiences in the colonies had given him the right to hope.

"Sure what did you think it was about, lad?" asked Colin, an Irishman who worked outdoors on the grounds. He dropped a wink. "Best not to set your sights too high, so."

Castiel had taken to having dinner with the rest of the workers, now that he knew he wasn't alone on the estate in his supernatural character. 

He wondered if the mystery person Dean had returned to England for would be in attendance, and his heart ached with a jealous, possessive anger.

"Don't be doin' anything that'll endanger ourselves, Castiel," Arachne warned him. "You get too much attention, you'll bring the house down around our ears."

He had been silent, instead of informing them that he would be in attendance at the event as Dean's guest.

***

The garden party portion of the event passed without a hitch.

Castiel and the rest of the workers blended into the background entirely.

However, after the feast laid out was eaten and night had truly fallen, the dance began - as did the drunken behaviour of the guests.

"Bring me another drink!" called a few of the more inebriated ones, expecting to be served without directly addressing anyone.

Unfortunately, when new drinks did not materialise, they had set their sights on Castiel.

"You!" cried one man, pointing. "A drink, if you will, good sir!"

"I am not a waiter, sir," said Castiel calmly.

"How dare you - "

"May I have this dance?"

Dean's smooth voice cut through everything, and Castiel turned toward him like he was the sun.

"Sorry about that asshole," murmured Dean, and Castiel smiled as he was led away, onto the dance floor, and straight into a dream.

Dean, holding him.

Dean, smiling down into his eyes.

Their hands wound round each other.

Belatedly, Castiel noticed the looks of horror on both the guests -

because of his class, because he was a man,

and the people he worked with -

because of his position in the household, and what it might mean for them, a display as shocking as this one.

But everything seemed to pale and fade away beyond the wild brightness of Dean, whose arms were around him, whose entire world was now Castiel, if only for a brief moment.

He reminded himself sternly of the multiple stories of weeping serving girls watching their upper-class lovers married off, of hushed pregnancies, of workers sent away, of the usual detritus of a romantic entanglement between classes in this fashion.

But all he could see was Dean.

***

"I hope you know what you're about," said Arachne to him, as he passed her in the hall the next morning, on his way to prepare the cut roses for Dean's waking.

Castiel didn't respond. 

He knew she was right. He couldn't help himself.

His only hope was that he would be the only one sent away, once it had reached its conclusion. He could sense the heartache to come and yet was not deterred by it. 

Not by anything.

***

The sun rose, and Castiel clipped the stems of the flowers.

This time, when the square of light approached Dean's bed, so did Castiel.

He stared down at Dean's beauty, as the morning light illuminated his skin, and he opened his eyes.

"Cas," said Dean, sleep-soft, reaching out and looping an arm around Castiel's, gently tugging him forward into the dangerous warmth of the enormous bed, and _Dean, Dean, Dean -_

Castiel held himself near enough, but still far away, as they both realised nothing could be done due to the likelihood of interruption.

Castiel reluctantly pulled away, returning to his duties, as Dean watched him with heat in his hooded eyes.

***

After that, it became almost impossible to be near him.

And it seemed like Dean was constantly conjuring up excuses to do just that.

Castiel could've sworn that he didn't usually meet Dean so often 'by accident' during his daily rounds at the estate.

He'd turn a corner, and Dean was there. The hallway was empty, and Dean drew close to him, lips close enough for Castiel to feel Dean's breath on his own. 

Castiel's heart would beat frantic in his chest, but then he would turn away from Dean and walk smartly in the other direction.

Other times, Castiel would surprise him, sitting in a chair in the study, and Dean's hand would trail against his leg as he passed by.

One memorable incident involved Dean pretending to look at the spines of the books in the library, and when Castiel's cleaning brought him close enough, Dean made sure to catch his eye -

and then got down on his knees, put his hands behind his back, and stared up at Castiel with a gaze full of promise.

That was the one time Castiel's iron resolve had truly weakened, and he'd muttered his excuses and fled.

***

"I am going on a hunt," Dean announced one morning after he had breakfasted.

"Well, I cannot accompany you," said his brother. "There are men visiting from the barristers' society today."

"Another attempt at a _normal life_ , I take it?" scoffed Dean.

"We have different interests, Dean."

"You're sure you'll be all right while I'm gone?"

"I survived your time as a cowboy in the colonies, did I not?"

"Wonderful," said Dean.

Then he looked at Castiel.

"If you can survive without Cas here," he said evenly, "I'm taking him along with me."

Samuel looked at Castiel askance.

"He's your valet, Dean. But are you certain that's wise?" he asked softly. "After your behaviour at the party? None of the women are willing to consider you now, Dean. They think you were making fun of them."

Privately, Castiel was thrilled about this turn of events.

"Ah, let 'em think it," said Dean. "Idiots, the lot of 'em. What do you say, Cas? Change of atmosphere could do you a world of good?"

Despite all his arguments to the contrary, Castiel found that he still couldn't say no.

"As you wish, sir," he said.


	11. Sacrament Taken Kneeling

The forest was dark even before sunset, and Castiel carried Dean's rifle on his back.

There was a storm rolling in, one that Castiel could not really deny had more to do with the fact he was now alone with Dean than anything to do with the weather.

They had traveled a relatively far distance from the estate, into the north where things were still wild, away from anything and everything that would remind Dean of the world he had come from, the world unto which he would have to return.

Castiel guarded his time with Dean jealously, and no more so than now, when he had the man to himself.

Abruptly, Dean turned to him on the path.

"There's no hunt, Cas," he said simply.

"I beg your pardon?" Castiel asked, startled.

"I wanted to get you alone," Dean confessed, "so I could - "

And Dean kissed him, in full this time.

No hesitation, just passion and pent-up fury.

Castiel, who would always fall before this man, opened to him gladly, and drank in the moans Dean poured into his waiting mouth.

Softly, it began to rain.

"Cas, Cas," Dean panted against Castiel's lips. "What do you want? Please."

Castiel's gaze hardened, finally allowed free rein, his mind and his desires overtaking him with a violence he hadn't quite expected.

"Get down on your hands and knees," he commanded.

Dean shuddered against him deliciously.

"Yes, sir," he said meekly, and Castiel's self control completely snapped.

"In the mud. Now," Castiel snarled, whirling Dean around and pressing him forward so he nearly tripped over himself, hands splayed wide as he went down.

Castiel's hands scrabbled at Dean's trousers, finally yanking them down, exposing his muscular backside. 

Castiel bit down on it, and Dean yelped, earning him a swat.

"Shh," said Castiel, removing the rifle, and his cumbersome clothing, so that he was naked in his entirety as Dean waited and wept with need. "I'll give you what you want, impatient one."

It began to rain harder, the ground filthy with wet mud, and Castiel enjoyed dirtying Dean up, his hands spreading it across Dean's bare skin.

Castiel leaned forward, gripping Dean by the nape of his neck.

"Keep your eyes _down_ ," said Castiel. "Don't look at me."

"Yes, sir," murmured Dean, and Castiel keened with the feeling, overwhelmed, insane.

He lined up his cock and pushed inside, no preparation as he placed his hand over Dean and ensured there would be no pain.

But he couldn't help the sudden spread of his wings, triumphant and dominant over their coupling, or the appearance of his halo, a series of three rings one after the other joined just over his eyes, on each spinning ring a series of eyes that moved and watched and rejoiced in Castiel's claim.

Lightning struck the ground near them, making Dean jump, but Castiel held him in place, as the rain pounded down around them and Castiel fucked into him, his body bowing over Dean's in the blue-grey light, dripping with rain and tears.

For Castiel, this was akin to a religious experience.

A prayer, a curse, a promise.

Dean, beneath him, shaking and weeping, yelling and writhing and thrashing, as Castiel held him strong in one place, asserting his possession of the man who had driven him to the threshhold of absolute madness and then pushed him over it.

Then, he hauled Dean up, so that Castiel was crouching now, thrusting up into him, his arms wrapped tightly around Dean and one hand over Dean's eyes. 

The angel took Dean's weeping cock in hand and delighted in the sensation of Dean coming _hard_ , to the point of blacking out, under his ministrations, and with a loud, triumphant shout that sounded like a war cry, less human than angelic, Castiel came deep inside him and bit down on his shoulder, the grip of his hand on Dean branding him in a way that only Castiel could see.

In the moments after their violent coupling, the rain stopped and the wind died down, and Castiel made a place for his conquest to sleep on a pile of their clothing, beneath the protective warmth of a downy wing.

***

Dean opened his eyes slowly, blinking in confusion.

"Whr - what," he finally said.

Castiel stood waiting patiently next to him.

"May I interest you in some breakfast, sir?" he enquired, fully dressed and looking for all the world as if they had never left the estate.

Dean looked around his environment and found that he was still in the same part of the forest as he had been in the night before.

"How did - " he began, and then yawned, getting to his feet and pulling on his clothing. "I don't know how you do it, Cas, but I should be in a world of hurt right now. I feel -"

He sighed, and cast his gaze around the forest. 

"Better than I have in my life," he admitted.

Then he looked at Castiel, and closed the distance between them, taking his chin in his hand and kissing him.

"I certainly hope your intention was not to spend our time away out in the forest," said Castiel.

"What?" asked Dean, a little dizzy from the kiss. "No, I - there's a hunting lodge not far from here. A few miles walk, I just - couldn't wait any longer."

"Then we shall go there."

"In a minute," said Dean. "Did I hear you mention breakfast?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we know why it rains a lot in England :D
> 
> Chapter title from Oscar Wilde's quip, 'Love is a sacrament that ought to be taken kneeling'.
> 
> Oscar Wilde said a lot of amazing things - btw if you've never seen _Velvet Goldmine_ it's awesome.


	12. Strawberries and Cream

They were sat together on the path, in the warm golden light of the sun.

Castiel was feeding Dean fresh strawberries dipped in Devonshire clotted cream.

He had poured champagne from the bottle into two glasses he had brought for the occasion, and they traded tipsy, strawberries-and-cream-flavoured champagne kisses, unable to stop smiling and laughing for no reason, completely lost in each other.

"Cas, you think of everything," Dean said, lifting his glass in a mock-toast and letting the bubbles tickle his nose.

He lay back on the ground and smiled up at the sky, the sun, and eventually Castiel, who curled himself around Dean.

"It's my job," he said.

"Sounds like you'd rather it was mine," said Dean, grinning. "You're definitely a little...racier...than I had imagined."

Castiel snorted and then nuzzled into Dean's neck, breathing deeply of him now that he could.

He would do the same forever, if Dean would only let him.

"You remember when you came to work for me?" Dean asked.

"Yes, sir."

Dean smacked him a little.

"Yes, _Dean._ "

Dean let out a contented little sigh at the sound of his name.

"Know why I hired you?"

"My glowing references?"

Dean laughed a little at that.

"That's how I convinced Sam, yeah," said Dean. "But no. I thought - I'd never seen a more handsome man in all my life."

"As your valet, I assure you that I am aware you own a looking-glass, Mr. Winchester."

"You're better-lookin' than me," said Dean. "You're all - I don't know. You have, this _thing,_ about you. Like whisky and the Highlands and -"

"I thought you considered me Irish."

"No, no," said Dean, certain of the word he was looking for, as Castiel fed him another strawberry and chased the cream with a kiss. 

" _Sublime,_ " said Dean, in triumph. "That's you, Castiel. _Sublime._ "

"That word translates to both beauty and terror," said Castiel. "Are you afraid of me, Dean?"

Dean's eyes immediately registered the low rumble of Castiel's voice, and the angel was once again struck by how the man _looked,_ somehow, like debauchery, like vice, like sin.

Like temptation, made flesh.

"Anytime you want me to be," said Dean, and kissed him hard.

***

They made their way to the hunting-lodge after breakfasting, and had only traded kisses since the night before.

The hunting-lodge was far grander than its name implied. A large and welcoming rustic building with an enormous fireplace and hand-hewn wooden furniture, it may not have been as grand as Winchester Estate, but it was definitely a retreat for the wealthy.

Castiel made a fire, and lit candles throughout the place, giving it a cosy and romantic feel.

Together, they fell into the large bed, and did nothing apart from kiss and touch each other, glorying in the sensation and freedom of both, until Dean fell fast asleep, leaving Castiel to watch over him.

In the darkness and the glow of the candlelight, Castiel knew he had never in all his long existence been so perfectly happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devonshire clotted cream, how I miss you :) did that exist during this time period? Did champagne? who knows.
> 
> On philosopher Edmund Burke's view of the sublime:
> 
> "For Burke, pleasure was not as strong a feeling as pain, and he proposed that the sublime, which he understood to be our strongest passion, was rooted in fear, particularly the terror brought on by the fear of death. Burke wrote, "The passion caused by the great and sublime in nature, when those causes operate most powerfully, is astonishment, and astonishment is that state of the soul in which all its motions are suspended, with some degree of horror."


	13. Idyll

The days tumbled, one into the other, after that, without Castiel really marking the passage of time.

It had always been difficult for him, as an angel, but the rote schedule of Winchester Estate had given him some kind of structure.

Now, it was euphoria and bliss, here in their forest idyll, as he woke with Dean in his arms, with the permission to stare and drink his fill, to touch and taste all those secret places Dean had kept hidden for so long.

One day, Dean was ribbing him, and Castiel said:

"I know what will quiet that mouth."

He was cleaning the bookshelves, because habits die hard and he was still Dean's valet after all.

"Yeah? What're you gonna do about it?"

"Come here, Dean."

Dean did as he was told.

"On your knees," said Castiel. "Now, I want you to stay there while I finish dusting, and hold my cock in your mouth. Nothing more. Understood?"

Dean's eyes fluttered closed.

"Yes, sir," he sighed.

Castiel undid his trousers.

"Kiss it," he directed, and Dean did so.

Then Castiel fed his soft cock into Dean's mouth and carried on with his work.

Until Dean moved back, suckling the head.

" _Ahh -_ " yelped Castiel, slamming his hand against the bookshelf and making it rattle.

He stared down at Dean, whose bright green eyes were filled with mischief, and who ran out his tongue to curl around the head of Castiel's cock before swallowing him down again in one go.

" _Ffff -_ " Castiel began fucking his mouth in earnest, unable to stop himself, driven mad by this man he might have believed was some kind of supernatural creature himself, had he not known better.

As it was, Dean gripped his hips and pulled him closer as he thrust helplessly into that soft, warm, waiting mouth, and a scream ripped from his throat as he came down Dean's.

Then, Dean stood, removing his own clothing, hard cock bobbing obscenely as he wiped his mouth, swallowing so that Castiel could see him, and casting a coy look over his shoulder.

"You gonna punish me now? _Sir?_ " he asked.

Castiel's rage took him then, and he folded Dean over the edge of the bed, spanking him hard until Dean was a weeping, writhing, begging mess.

" _Please, Cas, please, I need it,_ " Dean whined into the bed coverings, and Castiel was shocked to find that he was fully hard again.

He rubbed his hard cock over Dean's pink skin, revelling in the warmth of it.

"I don't think you deserve to come," said Castiel, thoughtful and quiet.

"No, please, I'll be good!" Dean said.

"Are you arguing with me?" asked Castiel, soft and dangerous.

Dean breathed out.

"No, sir," he said.

"What kind of punishment would it be if I simply let you get your way?" Castiel enquired. "Dean?"

"None at all, sir," he said.

"Very well," said Castiel. "Then for your punishment, I won't let you come. We can stay in bed together, but nothing more."

"Aw, Cas - "

"Would you like me to make it longer?" asked Castiel.

Dean shook his head against the bedcovers.

"Good," Castiel purred. "Now get under the covers and we will talk instead."

Dean did as he was told.

***

"What happened to you in the colonies?"

They were laying in bed, looking at each other, holding hands, but that was all.

Dean, still somewhat flushed, was so ethereally beautiful that Castiel almost could not keep his own promise about not touching, claiming, marking this man so everyone knew he belonged to him, in this world and the next.

Dean smiled, and Castiel was lost.

"When I went over there, I was just like Sam," said Dean. "I had all these - preconceived _notions_ , I guess, about people. The way they talk, the way we are. How we land on the scale of hierarchy. A snob, I suppose."

"And something happened there that changed your mind."

"Well, I encountered quite a few cowboys, and some of the natives," said Dean. "And - you wouldn't believe it, Cas, Irishmen working with Englishmen, the both of them working with natives and people from all over the world - like it was nothing!"

"You might say the same of many a grand house across _this_ country," said Castiel. "The working classes tend to mix with all varieties."

"That's just it," said Dean. "I was raised to think that everyone had a place. And to hide things, if they weren't - "

Now Dean looked away from him.

"I may have harboured - _sentiments_ \- toward you before I ever left," Dean admitted. "In fact, it was one of the reasons I went to the colonies, to oversee the house and land there."

Castiel was surprised, and he raised himself up on one elbow.

"You mean to say - "

"Yes, Cas. I've wanted you for years. I just didn't - at first I didn't know what it was, and once I figured it out, I was alarmed. You're a man. You're my _servant._ I didn't know what to do and, well."

"You ran away."

Castiel smiled fondly.

Dean returned his smile.

"You could say that," said Dean. "Among the cowboys, though - I saw that men could be with other men, in that way. Did you know one of them was a Duke? I asked him, once, why he'd traded all his greatness here in England for a dirty pioneer life over there. Do you know what he told me?"

"I imagine I am about to find out."

"He said, _Mr. Winchester, one day you will find that all the treasures in this world compare not to love._ And he was - his lover, was one of the natives, _and a man._ "

Dean squeezed Castiel's hand.

"That's when I knew," he said in a low voice, although there was no one else to hear him, "that I had to come back, to - to know. If you felt the same. And if you did, maybe - "

Dean trailed off, looking searchingly into Castiel's eyes.

"I don't know how we can," he said, "how we can _be,_ if we stay here, Cas. But I - I just wanted you to know."

Castiel, bathed in the diffuse light of his every dream coming true, just stared at Dean for a long time.

"Did - do you," asked Dean softly, almost too quiet for Castiel to hear.

"Oh," said Castiel, startling a little. "Of course, Dean. Years."

Dean's smile, this time, was brilliant and blinding.

"Thought so," he said, snuggling in a little closer.

Castiel listened to their breathing, and their twin heartbeats, because he could hear them.

"Cas," said Dean, sleepy.

"Yes, Dean?"

"How long're you gonna stay with me?"

Castiel smiled.

"Forever," he said. "And even longer than that."

Dean hummed, and made a happy little wriggle, then fell fast asleep in the bed next to Castiel.

The angel's heart was near to bursting, as he watched the rain slide down the window pane, the result of his passion for the man who slept beside him.


	14. Possession

True to his word, after they had breakfasted, Castiel told Dean to lay on the bed.

"Show me how you've dreamt of me, of us together," said Castiel.

Dean whimpered, and closed his eyes; a pretty pink flush of his cheeks, his neck, his chest.

"Don't hide from me, love," soothed Castiel. "Nothing to be embarrassed about, sweet one."

Dean shuddered a breath, and then spoke.

"I - when I was in America, alone," he said. "I'd think of you, how you were - just always _there,_ when I awoke. Like a statue. Patient. Waiting. A - and I - "

His hand drifted toward his plumping cock, but Castiel made a _tch_ sound.

"You can touch anywhere but there," he said.

Dean flattened his palm along his ribcage, smoothing down the skin there.

"You always looked so - like war," said Dean. "Like coiled power. I thought, if - if I teased you enough, maybe you'd snap, maybe - "

His breath was coming more quickly now, his cock straining.

"Maybe I would have enough, and bend you over? Teach you a lesson?"

" _Yes,_ " sighed Dean, his fingers circling and then pinching a nipple.

"That was the reason for your insolent behaviour upon your return? Goading me?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean said. " _Fuck,_ I wanted you - but I wanted you to want me more."

"Did you enjoy the outcome of your plans?"

Dean moaned, and Castiel knew he was thinking of that first night.

"Yes," he said, "hoped, a little, for some bruises to keep, but -"

"That can be arranged," said Castiel.

Despite outward appearances, Dean's words had shaken Castiel to his core.

All this time he had wanted to dominate his charge, and here his charge had been, hoping to be dominated, to feel the strength in Castiel's limbs, to be taken, and taught, and brought to heel.

To be possessed, by Castiel.

His hands trembled with it, the need to mark him, to own Dean fully. 

It was a kind of insanity he had never before experienced or even been aware of, in all his centuries of existence.

The desire for Castiel's ultimate possession of this man consumed him.

Dean's desire for it, likewise.

"Since you've been so good," rumbled Castiel, as if this wasn't reward for himself, "I'll allow it."

He crawled over Dean's body, bracketing him, cock a hard line in his trousers.

"Take it out," said Castiel, and Dean reached down to undress him as Castiel moved his hand, and pressed a finger into Dean.

Dean just sighed, and surrendered.

This drove Castiel absolutely crazy, and he suddenly had no patience at all; he _needed_ to be inside Dean, to lay his claim again and again, to litter bruises across Dean's body with every rough press of his fingers, to bite and bleed him.

Castiel's patience ran out, and he pulled his hand away after ensuring that Dean would feel no pain before he shoved into him with a single, powerful thrust.

Dean wailed, and Castiel lifted him bodily from the bed, teeth clenched, eyes wild, as he held him up and slammed into him again and again.

Dean wept, and held Castiel's shoulders, as the angel cruelly jerked him off and then stopped just as he could feel Dean's orgasm nearing. Dean screamed, and sobbed, and begged, but Castiel was relentless.

"Don't come," snarled Castiel. "Don't you dare."

Dean was gasping and crying out, and everywhere Castiel grappled with his body he pressed bruises there, he bit down and drew blood against Dean's chest and when Dean saw it dripping against the pale white of his skin he made a strange, soft little sound.

"Now, beloved," said Castiel.

Dean stared at him, and then gasped just before his cock kicked with an orgasm strong enough that it hit him almost out of nowhere, and he went entirely boneless on a rising shout, a complete sacrifice in Castiel's arms.

Castiel slammed into him one last time hard enough to bruise for days and roared in animal triumph as he held Dean down against his body where his cock, deep within him, pulsed and filled Dean with his come, as Castiel stared him down and willed him to feel every twitch of his orgasm and understand that he was now and forever indelibly Castiel's, that he would be dominated when and where Castiel so desired, and that he had been conquered.

_I own you now,_ was Castiel's message.

Dean's sleepy, meek gaze in return, beneath those golden ginger lashes, was every submission Castiel had been hoping for and dreaming of, ever since he had come to work for the Winchesters.


	15. The Visitor

Mornings were Castiel's favourite time.

He'd watch Dean rouse from slumber, that sleepy, satisfied expression -

he realised that he would do anything to make Dean happy, and to ensure his happiness forever.

"Cas," Dean said, as he woke up. "Where're you from? Not Ireland, you said. So where?"

Castiel was terrified. He hadn't thought this far ahead.

"Far away," said Castiel. 

"Mmm. Explains how you talk sometimes," Dean said, snuggling into him. "What's it called? The place you're from?"

_Heaven. Elysium. Paradise._

"Madriax," Castiel finally said, and then wished he'd thought of just about anything else to say.

"Huh. Weird," said Dean. "You're right, never heard of it. Well, it kind of rings a bell, but."

He sighed, still sleep-beautiful and soft in the morning light.

"What would you have done," he asked, "if we - if this had never happened?"

Castiel shrugged a little, making Dean grumble at being jostled.

"I would have gone on just as before," he said softly. "Folding your clothing, caring for you, cutting the fresh roses in the morning. If that was all this could ever be, I would take it, just to be close to you, to shower you with affection, to make your life easy, a delight and a joy - even though you may never know it, or understand why."

Castiel stroked Dean's arm, pulled him closer.

"I still long for you, though you are right here with me."

Now half-asleep again, Dean nodded in contentment.

"I never even imagined this was truly a possibility. Loving you was enough."

Dean opened his eyes.

"Loving me?" he asked.

Just then, there was a commotion outside.

"Hold that thought," said Dean, getting out of bed and pulling on his trousers. 

Castiel dressed hurriedly and nearly ran right into Dean standing on the steps.

"What's -" he began, but then he saw what Dean was looking at.

A very skinny, dapper little man turned around.

"I say, wot wot," he said, tipping his hat. "Sorry to bother you gents, but I've found myself in something of a pickle."

Dean's mouth was working, but nothing came out of it.

"Pleased to help," said Castiel, stepping forward. "Castiel, of the Winchester Estate. This is Mr. Dean Winchester."

The man performed a funny little bow.

"Garth Fitzgerald IV," he said. "At your service."

"What brings you out this way, Garth?" asked Dean, and there was an edge of suspicion in his voice.

Whether that was brought on by the bizarre appearance of the man or Dean's fear of being found out, Castiel did not know.

"Please go inside, sir," Castiel advised him. "I'll handle this."

Dean looked as if he were about to argue.

"Dean. Please."

That did it, and Dean retreated indoors.

"Now then," said Castiel. "How may I help?"

"No worries at all, sir!" said Garth cheerily. "Just passing through, I'll be on my way then, jolly good, eh?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes. There was something on the wind, something he couldn't quite place.

"Mind explaining to me what brought you all the way out here, past civilisation, to a place few know about and even fewer tread?" Castiel enquired.

Now Garth looked hunted.

Castiel sniffed the air delicately.

_Ah. There._

_Werewolf._

"I'd advise you to move along," said Castiel evenly. "If you've come all this way scenting a human, know that this man is protected."

"I'm sorry," Garth said. "I wasn't aware."

"That's all right," said Castiel, thinking of Arachne and the others at the estate. "Understandable. But you've put yourself in danger -"

There was a loud, sudden _crack._

A shot rang out.

Garth dropped heavily at Castiel's feet, and collapsed.

Castiel turned around slowly to see Dean holding the rifle, smoke rising from the barrel.

"Werewolf," said Dean, by way of explanation.

Castiel stared at him, aghast.

"Don't worry about it, Cas," said Dean, nonchalant. "Not like he was worth anything. He wasn't human. You're welcome, by the way."

And he went back inside the house.

Castiel was frozen there for a moment.

Then he rushed to Garth's side, and leaning over him, whispered:

"Are you still alive? Blink if yes."

Castiel watched Garth's eyes.

A slow blink.

Castiel let out the breath he was holding.

Then he laid his hands on the werewolf and healed him.

"Now listen to me very carefully," said Castiel. "Wait until I am inside the house, and I make a lot of noise. Then _run,_ fast and far, away from this place. And give Winchester Estate a wide berth. Don't come sniffing around again. Understood? Blink if yes."

Another long, slow blink.

"Good," said Castiel. 

He stood, brushing himself off, and went into the house without looking back.

***

"What do you think you're doing?"

Dean gave Castiel a surprised look.

"What do you mean? My job!"

"It's _your job_ to shoot an unarmed, defenceless man who just happened to be in the garden?!" Castiel shouted, slamming around some of the kitchen cutlery.

"Oh, you just wait and see how _unarmed and defenceless_ a werewolf can be, Cas!" said Dean. "I did it to protect you! To protect _us!_ What's the problem, anyway? You've known that we do this the entire time you've worked for me! We're under _royal obligation_ , for God's sake!"

"Not for God's," muttered Castiel.

"What was that?" Dean demanded.

"I just think it's unsporting to - to _murder_ someone for no reason!" Castiel said.

" _Murder -_ " Dean laughed and shook his head. "Cas. Castiel. That was a _monster_. Not a man."

Inside, Castiel was aching.

"He was man enough," said Castiel.

In a pretence of storming out, he stomped outside and was relieved to find the garden empty.

Dean, coming up behind him, also noticed this and swore.

"Leave him be," said Castiel. 

"I shot him with silver," said Dean. "He'll die, sure as anything, even if I didn't get him in the heart. Takes 'em longer to bleed out, but he'll get there."

Then Dean walked back into the house.

Castiel opened his fist, to look at the silver bullet there.

***

That night, they didn't speak very much, and when they slept, it was apart from each other.

***

In the morning, Dean said:

"We'd better be getting back. Sammy'll be missing us."

And so they began the long trek back down the forest path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I met at least two men in the UK who talked exactly like Garth in this chapter. I didn't know they still existed, or if they ever had, but there they were. One of them wore jodhpurs on the beach.
> 
> Garth is one of my favorite characters in the show.


	16. Winchester Estate

The journey back to Winchester Estate dropped in temperature as they went, as things cooled between the two of them like coming down from altitude.

They parted at the doorway, Castiel back to his place among the servants, Dean to embrace his younger brother and tell him about the werewolf he'd winged but not killed.

Unbeknownst to Dean, he'd hit his mark true, and Garth would've certainly perished if Castiel had not been there.

That afternoon, one of the servants announced a visitor:

"Miss Kensington, for Mr. Winchester."

Sam had approached the doorway to greet her, but she shook her head.

"Not you, Samuel," she said. "Your brother."

Dean stepped forward, bewildered.

"Shall we walk the grounds together?" she asked.

Dean bowed and complied.

Castiel watched him go, as Dean looked over his shoulder at him.

"You see, my duck?" asked Arachne, who was passing by on her way to the kitchens. "They only _truly_ mix with their own."

***

After Miss Kensington had left, Castiel was passing the study in the regular observation of his duties. He slowed to a stop when he heard the brothers arguing inside.

" - a shock, but he'll come around, I'm sure of it," Dean was saying.

"Are you out of your mind?" Samuel returned.

"How so?" Dean asked. "I thought you wanted to marry me off, and now that I'd like to propose, you're against it?"

_Propose._

Castiel had never known pain like this.

It threatened to consume him.

He hurried away from the study, deep into the servants' quarters, where he took a seat in the warmth of their own little library.

How he had ever - how he had dared, and been brought low.

Colin found him there, and sat in the chair opposite.

"There's a reason they tell all those stories about not getting involved with the employer," he said. "Charming men, I'm sure. But we are not only of a different class, Castiel. You know that."

Castiel just nodded, miserable.

"It has ever been my experience, and I assume Arachne's too," said Colin, "that they enjoy sporting with those of us _below-stairs_ until it comes time to take an appropriate partner. One of their station, so."

"A valet disappears when a wife appears," said Castiel.

"True," said Colin. "But that's usually because a bachelor needs a valet while a married man does not. In your case, Castiel, you're both the valet and the poor servant girl the young master has _left in a bad way_. Be glad you aren't a woman, or we'd have any number of bastards running around here."

Then he smiled, not unkindly, and said:

"Don't you worry, Castiel. We're all on your side. We understand. Because we're _your_ people."

Then he clapped him on the shoulder, and left him alone in front of the fire to contemplate his thoughts.

***

Castiel cut the roses for Dean the following morning, and awaited his waking.

He'd done it for so long, he didn't know what else to do.

Colin had dropped by with a note saying that Miss Kensington would return today.

Castiel had crushed the paper in his hand in a fit of pique.

Now, he watched the sunrise, as he always had, Dean's eyes fluttering open, his body bed-warm.

"Cas," he said, smiling soft, and reached for Castiel, pulling him down into the sea of blankets and the softness of the bed and the wicked temptation of his skin.

They kissed, Dean deepening it swiftly with relief and hunger -

until Castiel pushed him away, and stood from the bed.

"You're not still angry about the werewolf, are you, Cas?" asked Dean, looking hurt, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I know you've never seen me hunt before, so I understand that it might have been frightening for you, but Cas - it's what I _do,_ I have to do it, you know that, right?"

"Indeed, sir," said Castiel starchly.

Then Dean stood up, and touched his face, smoothed his hair, kissed his lips.

Castiel stood like a statue.

"Fine," said Dean, pride suddenly wounded as he realised he was the one doing the chasing here. "Be that way."

"Miss Kensington announces her intention to visit again today," said Castiel. 

"Great. Fantastic."

"Will that be all, sir?"

Dean looked at him with those bright green eyes where Castiel could see that tears were about to fall.

"Yes, Castiel," said Dean. "That will be all."

Then Castiel fled, and hid himself in the kitchens, where Arachne tutted around him and made him some soup.

***

Dean looked up from his luncheon to see Castiel standing stiffly in the hallway.

"Cas," he greeted him warmly. "I haven't seen you all morning. Come on in and join me."

"I thank you, sir, but that will not be necessary," he said. "I've come to tender my resignation."

Dean's jaw dropped.

"Your - " he said. "Cas, what are you talking about?"

_Leave first, with your dignity intact._

"Miss Kensington renews her visit today," Castiel announced. "I trust that she will be well-received."

"Are you - what?" Dean folded and then threw his napkin down on the table and stood up. "Excuse me, Samuel."

Sam nodded, watching them both curiously.

Dean pulled Castiel out in the hallway.

"Don't do this, Cas," he said. "I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but - "

"It's already done," he said, nodding toward his suitcases waiting by the door. "I've left an address in London where you may send the rest of my things."

Dean's shock turned to anger.

"So you're just gonna - " he sputtered. "Fine! Go. See if I care. You want to find some other employer, I'm not good enough for you anymore."

"I assure you, that's not - "

" _Get out,_ " Dean seethed, pointing to the door. "Get out. And don't come back."

Castiel stared at him, looking for _anything_ in those beloved green eyes, but all he found was a cold, blank wall staring back at him.

"Very good, sir."

He turned smartly on his heel, and went to stand beside his furniture in front of the door.

Castiel could sense an uncertain hesitation behind him, but he was betting on Dean's pride getting the best of him.

Dean swore, and returned to luncheon with his brother, with nary a word to Castiel.

_It's better this way,_ Castiel reassured himself.

But a tear escaped anyway, tracking down his cheek.

Resolutely, once his carriage had arrived to take him to the train station, he lifted his suitcases.

The tears had already dried.


	17. London Fog

In his meagre London rooms, Castiel sat on his narrow bed, buried his face in his hands, and wept.

Everything had changed so quickly, it had given him something like whiplash.

He felt the loss of Dean like a limb had been ripped from him -

or even worse, his heart.

A man might be heartbroken, but an angel's heart is his entire being.

Dean was the only man he had ever loved, and Castiel knew that he was the only man he ever would love.

Once an angel falls, it's a permanent thing.

And Castiel fell for Dean Winchester.

He remembered the day like it was yesterday - and in the way angels measure time, it was.

This was not the first time Castiel had seen Dean hunt.

In the deepest forests near Winchester Estate, Castiel had been walking, in his true form as a wave of light. Dean had no idea he was there - he had found himself alone in the wood.

Castiel saw his beauty first; angels were particularly drawn to human beauty, and angels found humans alluring - so alike to them, and yet so different. Story after story of angels bewitched by their love of humankind, and Castiel was no different.

So drawn to this man's bright eyes and strong features was Castiel that he didn't realise what he was looking at for a moment. Dean had brought down a shellycoat, far from its native Scotland.

The shells clacked on the creature as it struggled to breathe.

Dean knelt down close to it and looked carefully.

"Please," said the shellycoat. "Let me live, hunter."

"You know I can't do that," said Dean. "You draw people away into the woods and get them lost."

"Practical joking," said the shellycoat, "not the same as murder, hunter. And you must know that."

Dean laid a palm across the shellycoat's back and listened to its laboured breathing.

"Does it hurt?" Dean murmured.

"Terribly," said the shellycoat.

Castiel watched in fascination as Dean turned the creature over, despite its feeble pleas.

"Shh," said Dean, quietly to the creature. "Be silent, if you can, or my father will surely hear."

The shellycoat stared up at Dean with huge, trusting eyes, and gave a quick nod, the shells of its coat clacking together with the motion.

Dean put a wide stick between its teeth, and then uncapped his whisky flask. He poured the liquid into the shellycoat's wound as it reared with the pain and Dean held it down.

Then, he dug around in the wound until he found the bullet, and pulled it out between bloodied fingers.

"There," said Dean, removing his shirt sleeve and tearing it into strips, bandaging the creature. "I cannot do more for you now."

"Bless you, sir," said the shellycoat, after spitting out the wood.

"Now go, before the others find you," said Dean.

The shellycoat nodded, and toddled off into the bushes, shells clacking the rest of the way.

Dean stood there in the forest clearing, looking after the creature, and then wiped the blood off his hands in the grass, sliding his arm into his jacket to hide the missing shirtsleeve.

He looked up, when he heard voices calling his name at a distance, and called back to reassure them, disappearing into the underbrush.

Castiel was smitten, and resolved to answer his burning question about the beautiful hunter:

_why would a man raised to kill creatures he doesn't understand choose to save a life?_

He had presented himself as an applicant for the position of manservant to the eldest Winchester the very next day.

Dean, impressed with Castiel's resume, and as he would later discover, Castiel's own human beauty, hired him on the spot.

***

Castiel thought of this, and of many other things that had occurred during his time at the Winchester Estate.

Rain fell against the window as he looked out over dark, gloomy London in the grey.

_Does it hurt?_

_Terribly._

He would have plenty of time to reflect upon his life and his choices now that he was utterly alone.


End file.
